Takedown (4 page)

“The who?”

“Demon's Sons. A biker gang based south of the border. They're Tony's suppliers. They buy coke from their cartel connection in Mexico and ship it all over the U.S. and Canada. If you help me out with this one, I'll give you a grand. How does that sound?”

“I don't do it for the money, you know that. But my hand won't shake when I take the cash.”

Prescott laughed and smacked the table. “You could be a cop one day.”

Now, that was over the top, even for Prescott. “Yeah, right. With my record.”

“Why not? I'd put in a word for you. And by then, I might be another rung or two up the ladder. You never know.” He drowned an egg roll in plum sauce and took a few bites. “So. Last time we met, you mentioned delivery trucks. You still think the coke gets in that way?”

“Could be. Or maybe it's shipped up through the port.”

Prescott gripped the table. “Specifics, Darren. I need specifics. Not speculation.”

“I got you.” Guess Prescott really wanted that promotion. This wasn't personal for him, though. Not like for me.

“Walker's got to be laundering the money somehow,” Prescott said. “His name isn't connected to any business we can find, but he has to be funneling it through some local businesses. Especially ones that deal with cash, like nail salons, car washes, clubs. Call me with anything you have, Darren. No detail's too small.”

“There's something you should know.” I swallowed. He definitely wasn't going to like this. “The South Side Bloods have a new leader, Andre. He was Pistol's—”

“I know who Andre is. That sly sonofabitch. We couldn't even convict him on a possession charge, for fuck's sake.”

“Well, Andre's making a play for Tony's territory. He must've found a new supplier, because their product is better than it used to be. Maybe better than Diamond Dust.”

Prescott rubbed his face, kind of like Kiki did when he was worn out. “That's all we need. A new line into the city. And maybe a turf war. How long before it turns bloody?”

“Don't know. Tony's telling his men to stand down for now. Since Pup got locked up, he's extra worried.”

“He should be.” Prescott shook his head, like he was trying to shake a bad memory. “I was a beat cop when Walker showed up ten years ago. Seemed like a new body turned up every week. Sometimes it was a rival dealer. Or their girlfriend. Or a kid hit by a stray bullet. It didn't used to be that way, you know. There were always drugs, but it was never this bloody till he came around. There used to be a code, an unwritten rule among the drug dealers to keep the innocents out of the game. But for Walker, no one was off-limits.” His stare was intense. “I can't wait to lock him up.”

Maybe I was wrong about Prescott. Maybe it was personal for him, too.

M
onday morning started with another test, but this time, I was ready. My brain was full, and when I saw the questions, I puked everything I knew onto the page.

The classifications of life, according to my bio textbook:
Kingdom, Phylum, Class, Order, Family, Genus, Species
. I had the urge to rewrite it, a classification of life projects-style:
Kingpin, Executives, Lieutenants, Dealers, Ordinary People, Fiends
. But I pushed those thoughts from my mind and focused on the test, flying through all five pages in good time. My memory for detail was solid, especially since I'd become an informant.

When we were finished, we got to leave class early, so I stopped
by the music room. Filimino had a prep this period, and I found him behind a mountain of paper.

“Hey, Darren,” he said, raising his head. “You want to help me mark some tests?”

“What's in it for me?”

He considered that. “A few hours of pulling your hair out. These freshmen don't listen to a fucking word I say. I'm just going to use the Chinese method.”

“What's that?”

“It's where you throw the papers down the stairs and whatever lands farthest gets an A, and so on.”

I wasn't sure he was joking. Filimino was one of those teachers who broke all the rules. He bitched. He swore. He was always clashing with our uptight principal, and he once told me he wouldn't have a job if it weren't for the union saving his ass.

“There's an orientation night coming up at Ryerson, if you're interested. You can sign up at the guidance office.”

“I'll go next year. I've got plenty of time.”

He shrugged. “I thought you might want to check out their equipment. You could always see what George Brown has to offer too.”

It was cool that Filimino was thinking about my college options. He was the only adult in my life who actually took the
music production thing seriously. Mom thought it was a pointless hobby, not a career.

Filimino knew how it was. He was a musician himself, and had toured all over the world with his band in the nineties. He played guitar and drums and wowed the class with what he could do.

The bell rang, and I headed upstairs to economics. I caught sight of Jessica at her locker and said, “Hi.” Her eyes narrowed a bit, but then she said a lukewarm “Hi” back.

I'd promised to call her. I was hoping she'd forget, but who was I kidding? Girls never forget. I'd heard my sister's complaints enough to know that.

I'd actually picked up the phone to call her last night, but then my conscience kicked in. I liked Jessica, and I didn't want to screw her around. I was playing a dangerous game, and if she became my girlfriend, she could be at risk. That scared me.

I hoped our time would come. But it couldn't be now.

Honor

Honor's what it's called

Kids don't know what it means

They wanna make the money

supplyin' all the fiends

You think it's all good

You don't even know it's wrong

Till it hits you in the face

Like a brick in the face

It hits you in the face

Days in juvie sure are long.

T
hursday morning I got lucky. I snagged a seat on the bus, which saved me from getting elbowed by that old lady. Trey sat beside me, rambling on as usual. Smalls and Biggie were in front of us.

“This is the real deal.” Biggie caught the sunlight with his shiny new watch and reflected it all over the bus. “You know how many shifts I worked for this? Worth every minute.”

Trey wasn't impressed. “If that watch cost three hundred dollars plus tax and you make minimum wage, then you had to work seven shifts to buy it.”

Biggie burst out laughing. Trey seemed pleased with himself, as if he'd told an awesome joke.

I didn't think Biggie should've blown all that money on a watch, but at least his money came legit. He'd been working at Artie's Pizza for years. It might've made him fat, but at least it kept him out of trouble.

“You could have gotten a more expensive watch than that,” Trey said. This from a guy who was known for his Batman knapsack.

“Oh yeah?” Biggie said. “What kind of watch would
you
get, Bat Boy?”

“That's not what I meant. I've seen you cashing your pay checks at the Cash Stop. It's a waste of money. That's five percent you're throwing away. On a three-hundred-dollar purchase, that's fifteen bucks. If you make three hundred a month, that's one hundred and eighty dollars you're losing a year.”

Biggie shrugged. “Yeah, but you go to the bank and they're chargin' for this and that anyway. I like to keep my money where I can see it, you know? Besides, everyone goes there. Even the execs. And when it comes to cash, you know they ain't playing.” He pounded fists with Smalls.

“You can get a no-fee student account at the bank on the corner of Finch and Keele,” Trey said. “And you can use their bank machine ten times a month for no fee. My sister got an account and saved . . .”

He kept talking, but their eyes glazed over. The guys turned
back toward the front of the bus, and I pretended to listen to Trey, but my mind was tripping in another direction.

So the executives went to the Cash Stop. That meant something. It had to.

Diamond Tony wouldn't be paying his guys with checks, that's for sure. If executives went there, they were doing business.

Prescott had said that Diamond Tony would be laundering money through businesses that dealt with large amounts of cash. I couldn't think of a more perfect place than the Cash Stop. Half the neighborhood went there to cash checks, get loans, or send money. Even my mom cashed her checks there when she couldn't be bothered waiting at the bank.

I would have to check it out. No pun intended.

*  *  *

An hour later, we got our bio tests back. Written in red at the top was 85%, with a
Nice work, Darren!
from Mrs. Inrig.

Score!

When I studied, I could get A's. Here was the proof. Maybe if I worked hard I could bring my average up to an A minus by the end of the semester.

My biggest challenge was economics class. Mr. Miller always brought math and stats into it. And he didn't put many notes on the board to study from, so I had to try to summarize everything.
When we all complained, he said he was doing us a favor by preparing us for college.

It didn't help that Miller had hair sprouting from weird places, like the back of his neck and the top of his nose. It distracted me from what he was saying. Somebody oughta slip him a hair trimmer.

Today's lesson was:
How can I be a savvy investor?
Maybe it would be less boring than usual, because this was info I could actually use. One day I planned to have lots of money—legit money.

“Picture you have one hundred thousand dollars,” Miller said. “Can you do that?”

We all nodded, and a few people went, “Yeaaah.”

“Now, how are you going to invest it? Any ideas?”

“I'd put it all into green energy,” Jessica said. She sat at the front of the class on the left side. Since I was at the back right, I could watch her all class long without her knowing it.

“That's a thought,” Miller said. “You used the word, ‘all.' Do you intend to put all your money in the same place?”

She thought about it. “I'd put all of it into green energy, but maybe in different companies.”

“Why?”

Her reply was quick. “Because if one company goes bankrupt, I'd only lose what I'd invested in that company.”

“What if the whole sector plummets? Then you've lost everything,” Miller pointed out.

Someone at the back of the class said, “What goes up must come down.”

I thought about Diamond Tony.
What goes up must come down.
Made sense to me.

“So the key is to di-ver-si-fy,” Miller said slowly, and actually wrote it on the board. “Put your money in different areas of the economy. Let's say you've put your money in five different sectors and all your stocks are doing well. What next?”

“Sell your stocks before the market goes down,” Adam answered from the second row. “I wouldn't wait for things to go wrong.”

“No way, I'd let them ride,” Fatima said from the seat behind him.

“Well, that is the question, isn't it? That's the thing about investing, my friends. Studies show that those wanting a quick buck don't do as well as long-term investors. However, if your goal is to buy and hold, it takes nerves of steel. Your hundred thousand could be worth a quarter of a million or more—but
only
if you sell. And likely you won't want to sell if your stocks are doing well. So what do you do?”

“I'd watch the market and when something starts to go wrong, I'd cash out right away,” Kelvin said.

“That's what most people would do,” Miller said. “The moment something scary happens—a popular stock dips, for example—
people pull out. Of course, when everyone does that, it becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy.”

“So what are you saying we should do?” Jessica frowned. “Leave the money in or take it out?”

Man, Jessica was cute even when she was confused. I could tell she was taking the discussion seriously. I bet she planned to have a lot of money one day. That was another thing we had in common.

“When to sell is the biggest question of all,” Miller said. “There is no right answer. If there were, no one would lose any money in the stock market.”

No right answer.
I rolled my eyes. What kind of mark would I get on a test if I wrote that?

He put up his index finger. “There is something to consider, however. It's called a stop-loss policy. You make a deal with yourself that once a stock has gone down a certain amount, say ten percent, you'll sell.”

“But stocks drop all the time, then go back up,” Fatima said. “Why sell if you think it might go back up?”

Miller spread his hands. “It's all about risk. When a stock starts going down, the only way to guarantee you won't lose more money is to sell.”

“I wouldn't sell my stock—I'd probably buy more,” Adam said. “Aren't you supposed to buy low?”

“Yes. You are.”

I made some more notes. This stuff was going to show up on a test, I could smell it.

“Darren, could you summarize the discussion for us?” Miller asked, making me raise my head from the paper.

“Um . . .”

“Tell us what you've written. You've been making notes, right?”

All heads turned my way. Miller obviously thought I was doing something else, like writing rap lyrics, which he'd caught me doing a few times before. I glanced down at my notes and cleared my throat. No way I was going to look stupid in front of Jessica. “Investing rules. One—don't put all your eggs in one basket. Two—don't count your chickens before they've hatched. And three—know when to cut and run.”

To my surprise, Miller smiled. “Excellent summary, Darren. I couldn't have said it better myself.”